So… I’ve been laid up with the flu. Then pneumonia. Then bronchitis. FUN TIMES. If anyone has a line on a mecha body replacement app, hit me up.

But now I’m back!

Anyway, because I’ve been under the weather but not under a rock, I wanted to talk to you about one of the OMG STARTUP SCANDALZ that occurred while I was “out.” Because it perfectly illustrates a very important lesson for us all.

I’m speaking, of course, about Juicero.

Did you hear about Juicero?

The high concept pitch is something like “Keurig for Juice” — a $399 fruit juicer that doesn’t juice fruit, but only accepts their proprietary juice packs for $5-7 a pop.

Their idea was to make juicing faster, easier, and cleaner. Just pop in a pack and press the button, et voila.

Their machine was supposed to be a miracle of engineering, a small thing that sits on your counter but capable of exerting force “enough to lift two Teslas.”

For this they received $120 million in funding.

Which is absurd enough on the face of it, and then there were delays and overruns and all that usual stuff. Juicero has been in and out of the news for a while.

But the real fun happened a couple weeks ago when an intrepid somebody decided to take one of those $7 juice packs and squeeze it. You know, by hand. With their fingertips. (For free!)

Turns out if you squeeze the proprietary Juicero packs by hand, you get nearly the same amount of juice in less time.

Without having to lift two Teslas.

SCANDAL.

Now Juicero is offering full refunds to literally everyone who bought their superfluous and pointless device.

Here’s the thing:

Juicero made one of the most basic mistakes in business.

This is a mistake any one of us could make (but nobody’s giving us $120m to do it haha).

Juicero’s pitch was all about convenient, tasty, juice without the mess. Grab a pack and go. No cleanup.

Now, Juicero also had to build a network and supply chain to fill their juice packs with fresh fruit, manufacture them quickly, and get them into the hands of consumers.

They could have focused on that — focused on the actual juice — and built a manual hand-operated press for a fraction of the cost. Healthy food people go nuts for manual tools (ever heard of a Spiralizer?). They could have expanded to a fancier device later.

After they actually got a bunch of customers hooked on their convenient packs.

But no…

They just had to engineer the world’s most amazing machine.

Instead of focusing on the actual product, the things their customers might actually want — the JUICE! for crissakes! — they got distracted by the shiny — the engineering.

They fell in love with a shiny solution, not a customer’s problem.

The juice was the product.

But they spent all their money and time on the machine.

Now they’re f****d.

And that’s something to think about…

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I ask because a couple months ago I set out to email you every Monday, like a real live grown-up with a newsletter for adults. (This is what The Professionals™ do, apparently.)

Then for the next 7 weeks, I did! Yay!!

Now, I’d like to make it clear that I didn’t forget.

But last week was crazy busy prepping for the (hugely successful!!) Sales Safari LIVE.

And afterwards, I was too pooped to pop (out a newsletter). So I gave myself a day off.

Which — because I am a delicate snowflake & v.v. tired — turned into two days off.

Then the house painter texted me to ask if they could start early because they had a surprise opening.

So that turned into three days off… if you consider running around the house, madly moving my collection of chairs and securing knickknacks from destruction to be restorative. Hint: NOPE.

(Yes, my life is just SUPER EXCITING. I should probably write a thinkpiece on Medium.)

So to continue with the Most Boring Email Newsletter Story Ever, let me tell you about my lunch:

I had Indian for lunch yesterday! OMG! SO #INSTAGRAMWORTHY!

Just kidding, there’s a business-slash-life moral here:

Yesterday, as Thomas and I made our third trip into town for paint samples… our tummies started growling. There was an Indian restaurant conveniently right next to the Sherwin Williams. Now, I was a little bit apprehensive about it. One, we were in the ass end of nowhere. Two, I LOVE Indian cuisine… and when it’s disappointing, I cry like a toddler who lost her balloon. Three, this place was deserted. It was like walking into a tomb.

So I said to Thomas, “This is gonna be either awesome, or terrible.”

Spoiler alert: It was awesome!

The food was delicious — much better than we’d found in Philly — and zero other diners = beautiful silence = sheer luxury for my poor, battered ears.

I learned something: an empty restaurant is probably just another aspect of #countrylife. In a city like Philly, you’re never the only one anywhere, any time. Even if you’re dining out at a weird in-between time like 3pm.

But out here, most people have regular jobs. And schedules. And people they’ve got to answer to.

I know, right? I’m a terrible person. Here, allow me to distract you from your loathing with a photograph of tandoori chicken:

Mmmm.

Drool aside, guys, I am not joking.

I owe an enormous debt of gratitude to myself. Or rather, the me that was. The Amy of Years Past.

Nine years ago this month, Past Amy decided to do something radical. She decided to say goodbye to a high-end consulting career, and invest lots of “unpaid” time into making products. Of course she couldn’t just “say goodbye” out of the blue, so she started a side hustle — with the intent of making it her main hustle.

She’d never run a product biz before… never reaaaally sold a product, actually… just consulting. So it was like a leap of f*cking faith.

And the first couple years were a lot of work for not a lot of reward… at least at first. (Freckle made a measly $27k in its first year. Which was like a 1-month consulting gig for me at the time. Ouch.)

But Past Amy kept going.

She tried different stuff, and some worked better than others, and at times she fell off the wagon, but the important thing is that she kept going.

And today, because of her, I have a million dollar a year business. Made for me.

A business that gives me the freedom to…

take random days off while still earning

say “Yes!” to surprise opportunities

pop out of “the office” in the middle of the day to look at paint samples

It’s been a long, long time since I had to worry about what the boss would think, or what the client needs right now. I haven’t had to “call in sick” for over a decade. It’s glorious. Looking back, I can’t believe how much better my life is now.

Anyway, since we open the doors to 30×500 this Monday, I should probably be writing some kind of pithy exciting sales content here but f*ck it, life is short.

If I am going to leave you with a parting thought today, let it be this:

When we ask ourselves, “Should I do this?” — we go about answering it all wrong.

We talk ourselves out of doing things because our imaginary time horizon is so damn short.

We fixate on the downsides we’ll experience today, tomorrow, and next week.

We think: It’ll take so long to get good, to see results. I’m too old. I’m behind already. I should have started a decade ago. Why work “for free” when I could earn an hourly rate instead? Oh well.

That’s bullshit, my friends.

Your future is begging you to make it as awesome as possible.

Sure, it’ll take a little blood, sweat and tears to get there… but not as much as you think. AND, when you’re looking back from 2, 5, 7, or 9 years hence… all that hard work will be just a memory, but the rewards? Those will be fresh and present, every day.

As the famous Chinese proverb says,

“The best time to plant a tree is 20 years ago.
The second best time is today.”

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]]>https://unicornfree.com/2017/why-a-late-lunch-a-smart-investment/feed0http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/unicornfree/~3/VHmnvE3BsS4/why-a-late-lunch-a-smart-investmentHow do you create a product people want to buy?http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/slash7/rss/~3/vfV-nAWOEtk/how-do-you-create-a-product-people-want-to-buy-video
http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/unicornfree/~3/3oYNiVEGx14/how-do-you-create-a-product-people-want-to-buy-video#commentsTue, 21 Feb 2017 19:31:42 +0000http://unicornfree.com/?p=5724Read more »]]>Newsflash: Lean Startup and Customer Development are inherently broken. If you ask me, the whole process is functionally bankrupt. Why? Let me answer your question with a pair of questions:

Why do you create good things… but nobody buys?

Worse: Why do you feel the thrill of a great idea, then get stuck before you even finish the damn thing?

In short: Why all the struggle? And why do people worship the struggle?

This lil video I made walks you through the problem, and the solution. It’s only 13 minutes. It could just be the 13 minutes that’ll end the idea-fail cycle for you forever.

Convinced by the power of research?

Especially research you can do quietly, in the comfort of your own home, in your PJs, without any weird or confrontational or faux-nice-nice “interviews”?

There’s plenty of information right here in the archives that you can use to get started. There are 221 posts, in fact. (Plus so many videos and scads of interviews over the years.)

You can dive in, read it all, start working on your own… and spend years trying to get great results.

Or you can dramatically speed up the process and avoid common pitfalls with our class, 30×500.

You can benefit not only from my super nerdy obsession with (inventing) research methods, but also from the years and years of experience Alex and I racked up learning how to teach it in the most effective way. And all the years we have worked with students, helped them, coached them.

Plus, of course, you’ll learn our concrete, step-by-step processes for using that research to reach your audience, build your list, come up with more salable product concepts than you could ever use, sell, and launch.

You’ll have the motivating power of a deadline and real live help so you can hit the ground running

You’ll learn exactly how to do the research that leads to answers for Step 2 and Step 3, and how to turn that research into seductive pitches and sticky marketing content that’ll rake in the eyeballs, with live practice and personal coaching from yours truly and my partner Alex

30×500 Course Package: economical, flexible, and easy like any morning!

Live events not really your thing?? — if you prefer the flexibility and ease of going exclusively at your own pace — then the 30×500 Course only package is perfect for you.

You’ll receive all of the over-100 video lessons and guided exercises, lifetime access to our alumni Slack community, monthly alumni-only events, and more. The only difference? The Bootcamp is not included. And… the price is just $1,999. Save an extra $100 off that sticker if you register early. And yes, we do offer a payment plan for the 30×500 Course package!

How do you get the early bird discounts (and snag your seat before they’re all gone)?

]]>https://unicornfree.com/2017/how-do-you-create-a-product-people-want-to-buy-video/feed0http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/unicornfree/~3/3oYNiVEGx14/how-do-you-create-a-product-people-want-to-buy-videoYour Marketing Can Suck If You Get This Righthttp://feedproxy.google.com/~r/slash7/rss/~3/iVI8DYUe6MY/your-marketing-can-suck-if-you-get-this-right
http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/unicornfree/~3/v6Tzcjq-B9w/your-marketing-can-suck-if-you-get-this-right#commentsTue, 14 Feb 2017 19:20:00 +0000http://unicornfree.com/?p=5692Read more »]]>

You ever hear the phrase, “Ideas are worthless, execution is everything”?

You must have, because when I went to search for the most common formulation of this idea (ha!), Google gave me not only a bunch of pertinent suggestions but 700,000 results:

Considering we’re literally soaking in this particular cliché, you’d be forgiven for believing that to really, HUGELY succeed, you have to do everything… and get everything perfectly right.

And that idea (gross) is crippling, because… what if you can’t kick ass at execution? What if you have limited time? What if you’re a newb? What if you know you’re gonna make mistakes? Are you doomed? Should you even bother?!

I see a lot of really smart, capable people shying away from products because they think, “I don’t really know how to execute perfectly, and look at all this stuff I’m supposed to get just right, so I might as well not waste my time trying. Because execution is everything. Everything. Eve. ry. thing.”

That sucks the big one, not just for you, but for all of us out here with pressing pains and problems because

Nothing could be further from the truth!

Now, obv, you do have to execute. You have to do something. You can’t succeed — aka make lots of product dolla dolla bills y’all — if your ambitions live only in your head and never see the light of day, much less a customer.

But is execution every last little damn thing?

NEGATORY!

As I said, nothing could be further from the truth. Or truths.

Here are three actual bonafide truths about execution:

NUMBER 1: All those things the startup kids tell you you have to have? You can skip almost all of them, from growth hacks to best practices.

NUMBER 2: You don’t have to kick ass at execution. You can do a lot of things not-half-bad, even more-than-a-little-bit-crappy, and still kick ass at helping customers and making moolah.

NUMBER 3: In fact, you can suck at almost everything, if you get just the one most important thing right.

And I’m going to tell you what that one most important thing is, right after I give you a little case study of execrable execution starring………… me!!

Have you ever really paid attention to me? I know, I know, you just vomited in your mouth a little, but it’s a serious question.

Have you ever noticed how often I make mistakes when sending newsletters?

Have you noticed how terrible my blog is? Outdated, hard to navigate, and with a homepage topped by literally the worst call to action ever?

Have you noticed how all my other calls to action are buried at the end of blog posts (so 2009) when all the cool kids have fancy popups and stuff?

That I’m not offering topical content upgrades or scheduled webinars?

Have you noticed, in fact, that I am still using the same crappy onboarding email course I wrote 3 years ago, and it doesn’t even make sense any more?

Oh and that my branding is super lame and outdated? (Unicorn Free? God, why did I ever think that was cool?)

How about the fact that the 30×500 sales page hasn’t been touched in over a year and is, in fact, merely okay in terms of copy and visually a hot, unreadable mess? (And that the JFS sales page doesn’t have screenshots or its own domain name or any CTA other than buy?)

Have you noticed I don’t guest post, guest on podcasts, hobnob with industry gurus and barely ever speak at confs? And, when I do speak, I make mistakes, talk too fast, contradict myself, laugh at my own jokes?

And there’s no way for you to notice this one, but guess what? We don’t even split test the UF site. At all. Ever! OMG!!

There are also lots of flaws and omissions inside my products themselves, believe me. They could all be much bigger, broader, better.

Ughhhhhhh I suck at all the things.

Except one.

And that one thing is where I pour all my energy, which is why so many of the things above suck goat nuggets.

And how, despite all that, I’ve grown a $1.1 million dollar-a-year business.

It’s all down to the singular most important thing.

What is that one thing??

I promised I’d tell you, so here’s a hint… check out this reader email we received from a JFS reader:

I finished the book yesterday, and despite not knowing me or who I am, you wrote the book for me.

And here’s a note passed to us by a 30×500 alum:

BTW, 30×500 is VERY awesome. You guys nailed every detail that a student can possibly stumble on.

There’s just ONE THING that really, TRULY matters, and it is understanding your audience so well they think you made your product just for them.

The most glorious thing in the world is to feel understood.

And it’s one of the rarest, too.

Think of all the times in your life that you’ve dealt with products, services, and companies that treated you — THE CUSTOMER! their very lifeblood! — as an afterthought, or worse, an inconvenience, or worst of all, an enemy.

Did you care, then, about how beautifully and perfectly the product was executed?

NO. FUCKING. WAY.

But if you feel listened to, important, cared for, understood… you will crave that product. You will forgive any mistake short of utter destruction. Typos, stumbles, bugs, imperfection, none of those will matter.

It’s not a better mousetrap that will make people beat a path to your door, but pure, simple, human connection.

That’s the only execution that matters:

Meet people where they are… speak their language… make them feel understood… anticipate their questions, their thoughts, and their stumbling blocks before they even happen…

Not even the world itself can stand in your way.

Don’t miss the next essay…

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]]>https://unicornfree.com/2017/your-marketing-can-suck-if-you-get-this-right/feed0http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/unicornfree/~3/v6Tzcjq-B9w/your-marketing-can-suck-if-you-get-this-rightThe Best Career for a Maker is…http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/slash7/rss/~3/W_tBowvnOC4/the-best-career-for-a-maker-is
http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/unicornfree/~3/OA9okwP5GdI/the-best-career-for-a-maker-is#commentsTue, 17 Jan 2017 21:02:10 +0000http://unicornfree.com/?p=5636Read more »]]>

If you’re like me, your history of work is a history of defaulting forward:

You loved doing a thing.

So naturally, when it came time to adult, you took a gig that paid for doing-a-thing.

And when that gig — be it a client or a j-o-b job — ran its course or became too frustrating, you moved onto another. Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. I’ve learned things. This one will be better.

Only… as you got older and wiser, and gig gave way to gig… you began to notice something:

While details of gigs changed (better boss, more money, cooler projects, nicer coworkers), there was one core truth that always, always remained the same…

Your actual job wasn’t doing-a-thing, it was being a tool.

To enable someone else to Do-a-Thing.

And this is fine and dandy if enabling other people is what makes you feel most useful and effective in this life.

But if it’s not?

You set out on this path because you loved the craft enough to become a craftsman — a person who takes control of the creative process, and is responsible for its outcome — but you ended up being nothing more than a cat’s paw.

And I chose that term very carefully for a reason.

The term cat’s paw dates from the 17th century:

Once upon a time, a monkey and a cat lived as pets in the same house. They were great friends (or so Kitty thought), and what they seemed to think of more than anything else was the next delicious thing they would eat. One day they were sitting by the fire, watching chestnuts roast on the hearth. Chestnuts were a special treat. The question was: How to get them?

“I would gladly fetch them out,” said the cunning Monkey, “but you are much more skillful at such things than I am. Use your sharp claws to pull them out, and I’ll divide them between us.”

So Kitty did just that: carefully and slowly hooking each chestnut, one by one, with a sharp claw. As she pulled each one from the embers — singeing her paw just a little each time — Monkey gobbled it down. “Oh, Monkey,” Kitty thought, “so hungry, he’s eating his share first. Mine will be the second half.”

But suddenly the maid came swung open the door to stoke the fire and, surprised, Kitty and Monkey were forced to flee… and despite her burns, Kitty never got any chestnuts to eat at all.

(Adapted by yours truly from Aesop for Children (1919), public domain)

So… yeah.

Kitty got used as a tool for her sharp claws. (And her sharp skills. Y’know.) And she got totally bilked. Timeless.

And it sounds more than just a little bit familiar, doesn’t it?

Granted, you and I are humans and so we operate in the economic system where we do get paid for our roles as creative tools.

But if we are, deep in our secret hearts, makers rather than enablers, the money just isn’t enough. The money is a runner-up prize.

The money is settling.

Settling says, “This isn’t really where I want to be, but it’s close enough that I can pretend.”

And, remember: you settle where it’s pretty okay, right? Close enough that you can learn to love it. Or so you tell yourself.

But you only get one life.

Why not do your best work?

Why not work in the environment that is the best for you?

Why not structure your life, your income, your day in the best possible way?

So that you feel the best. Do the best. Get the best results.

You can’t achieve that if you’re in the wrong kind of role, if you’re a maker pretending to be an enabler, or an enabler pretending to be a maker.

Why not the best??

I think the biggest reason we don’t live the best is because we forget to even ask.

As a kid, I learned that I love to make things. Pixels, interactions, code, words — the format almost doesn’t matter to me, I love it all. I’m guessing you are much the same. The story above? That’s my story.

I did the enabler thing for a decade.

One day on vacation, a couple weeks into the complete and utter absence of work, from within me I heard the still, small voice of my being:

“I f*cking hate consulting.”

And wow, I really did.

It came as a bit of a surprise, honestly.

I finally saw that there was nothing on earth that would make that the best role for me. Great clients, great pay, interesting projects — I’d worked hard to become a better consultant, better at screening and pricing and pitching and closing and yes, even managing clients. And you know what? It didn’t matter.

That day, I learned:

I’m a maker, not an enabler.

Makers are happiest when they make things.

When we slide into enabler roles — to empower our clients, our bosses, or even our teams — we die a little. We can’t be our best. We can’t do our best.

But it’s so damned easy to end up in exactly that situation because the leap from doing-a-thing to getting-paid-to-do-a-thing is so damned obvious it doesn’t even seem like a decision. And it’s tempting, too.

The chestnuts are right there. It’s the easiest thing in the world to reach out with our skills and take them.

Only, when we get them, we find that the chestnuts are a lie. That the doing-a-thingness is the least part of our jobs (despite how many hours we spend on it). And it’s maddening to the maker in us how we can do our best work only to have it gutted, modified beyond belief, or even shut down by the powers that be.

Because our real job isn’t to make things. It’s to do what they want.

The best career for makers must have control.

That’s why I make and sell products.

Because the maker in me gets to control the work: what to make, how to make it, when to ship it, how to grow it. While my work is for my customers, I choose who to serve and how. I’m the boss of me. And I get paid for it. It’s amazing. Life-changing.

It’s such a radical difference from consulting or employment, you can’t even imagine how good it is until you experience it.

I believe every maker should have the chance to experience it. Yes, including you.

You don’t have to blow up your life.

You can create, ship, and sell a side project this year.

It’s wonderful to get paid to do the best.

My next few emails will show you how.

.

.

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I’ve been struggling to figure out how to start this essay on the best at work.

Work seems like such a mechanistic thing; you perform some kind of labor for some kind of reward. End of story. Right?

Work is something we all have in common. You’d think it’d be easy to write about. Or at least, I thought it would be.

But unlike where you live or how you sleep — where we can all agree on the aim of the thing, the point, the goal — work is a thing that pretends to be a million other things.

Houses should shelter and comfort you, give you a place to be.

Sleep should restore and energize you.

Work should pay your bills.

Or maybe it should be your passion?
Or maybe work should be creative expression?
Or make you powerful and important?
Or give you a sense of purpose?
Perhaps a feeling of fulfillment and accomplishment?
Or is it not “real” work unless it helps you change the world?
Maybe work is about ambition, and risk?
Then again, could it be about the people you work with?

Or — hell, let’s bring it full circle — maybe it really is all about the money, after all.

WHAT THE HELL IS WORK, ANYWAY??

No wonder it’s hard for me to find my way into such an enormous topic. (Except by writing about how I can’t write about it — always a finishing move against writer’s block.)

Millions of gallons of ink have been spilled on the topic because the very idea of ‘work’ is so f*cking vague.

It’s easy to talk about what makes shitty work (abusive bosses, substandard wages, dangerous environments)… but the best?

You can’t answer “Why not the best?” until you know what the hell you want work to be.

You, specifically. Yes, you.

Tastes in homes and mattresses vary, but what constitutes the best work is deeply personal.

Any combination of these factors might make up the best for you:

your work environment

the skills you learn

how you use and apply those skills

the topic

the material

the people you work with

the tasks themselves

the completed product

the result your work creates

the reason you work

the money

the location

or freedom, power, passion, creativity, time…

And yet someone else who has the same skills and experience might find your best combination the worst for them.

So before you can answer, “Why not the best?”

First you’ve got to ask:

“What is the best…

for you?”

Only you can answer that question.

And the best time to ask it is now.

It’s taken me nearly 20 years to get it right.

I’ve done just about every kind of work. I’ve made just about every mistake. I’ve worked hard to get places only to find out I didn’t even want to be there. I cut my losses and tried again.

Finally — finally — I’ve identified the best of work for myself.

My (lengthy) story will land in your inbox tomorrow! And I hope that it will help you start to answer that question for yourself.

In the mean time, a pair of questions for you:

When did work make you happiest?

When were you free to do your best work?

And if your answer isn’t, “Right now!” — why not?

.

.

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And that third sets you up for success — or misery — in the other two thirds, work and personal.

I’ve already told you about how I’ve begun to apply “Why not the best?” to my personal time. But there are still those other two thirds to think about…

That’s how I came to find myself last week in the country’s largest shopping mall, leaning on the counter at the Tempur-Pedic store, holding my head in my hands and mentally preparing myself to drop nearly five figures on a new bed.

Over $9,000!

!!!!!!!!!!!

Not gonna lie: when the salesman gave me the total, I squeaked in shock.

Then I looked at my husband, and he looked at me.

My look said: “Seriously?!”

His look said, “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Only by ‘ridiculous’ he didn’t mean “This is absurd, let’s go buy a car.” No… my husband’s eyes were telling me, “shut up and spend the money, Amy.“

Thomas was the one who dragged me to the store in the first place, you see. My illness causes sleep problems a-plenty… not only does my disorder throw off my schedule, not only does it cause pain (which interrupts sleep), but I’ve got to sleep sitting upright, and that means a mountain of pillows. Rearranging, punching, and cursing pillows every damn night. And the transfer of all the pressure to my hips…

My husband’s got ring-side seats. He knows our bed hurts me.

I know it, too — it’s my stupid body! — but it’s like the minute I crawl out of bed and knock back my morning Americano, I forget.

Then I do nothing to change the situation.

Then at night when I head to bed, I remember. And I dread it.

And shitty sleep means a shitty day, day after day after day…

Why did I keep living like this?

Why not the best?

Well, it’s pretty damned easy to come up with reasons why not to drop nine grand on a mattress and adjustable bed.

It’s easy to selectively “forget” about it the minute the pain is temporarily over. (When you consciously resolve to settle, your unconscious will play along.)

It’s easy to keep trying to shore up the situation with coping strategies, like toppers and wedges and new pillows… and to pretend the cost doesn’t add up.

It’s also easy to come to the edge and pause, saying well, the cheaper alternative is almost as good… even though it isn’t.

It’s harder to admit you’re wrong.

It’s harder to change your thinking.

Change is a little death to the you that existed before.

But… change is the only way to get to the best.

Thus bolstered by my new guiding question — and the memories of this cycle of settling — and my husband’s imperious eyebrows, I laughed a little and told the salesman the truth:

“I’ve just never spent that kind of money on something that wasn’t a house or a car.“

And the not-so-secret was… I STILL DIDN’T WANT TO!

I would happily spend nine grand on a long (but fleeting) vacation. Travel is invaluable to me.

But despite all the suffering, I didn’t want to pay out the nose to replace our old mattress because there wasn’t anything wrong with it. The problem lay with me.

Thing is… I can’t fix my body.

I can fix the bed.

And fixing the bed would go a long way to improving my everyday life — all three thirds of it — for a long time.

I finally had to admit: nine grand is expensive… except compared to the alternative.

And that’s the value math of the best:

“The best costs $X.But what does *not* having it cost?”

So often we let ourselves be dazzled by the cost of change — the money, the time, the effort. But we forget how expensive not changing will be.

(Yes, “we” — not just me — I know I’m far from alone! Even if my bed situation is extreme.)

In the end, Thomas and I didn’t even pay cash. We financed it at 0%. That works out to $200 a month. Just twice a cable bill. Or half a car payment.

Or a latte and a muffin every day.

Are those things more valuable than a third of my life?

Hell no.

So why not the best?

No good reason. Not one that stands up to scrutiny. Just a long list of coping strategies and bad habits that I built to keep me from having the best. And I’m sick of it.

Why not the best? is why I finally pulled the trigger.

And soon — SO SOON — you’ll find me gamboling like a puppy on a thick, plush, extra soft mattress with a power-adjustable head and foot. No more slo-mo hip dislocations. No more pillow punching. No more dread.

I know the second we get it, I’m going to wonder why we waited so long.

And again, I know I’m not alone in this.

What are you waiting too long to do?

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PS: This isn’t just a long apologia about spending a godawful sum of money. Maybe the amount is distracting, but it’s crucial to the point. For us, $9k is unpleasant but doable; for me, the long, long delay has been all about “the principle of the thing.”

Maybe you’re holding off on buying the best for you and it’s only $50, $100, or $500. Let me tell you: If it’ll improve your life, it’s worth it. Pull the damn trigger.

I’m so excited to be done with the bad habit of false economizing… and suffering… for no good goddamned reason. I’ve spent YEARS buying cheaper things that cost more in the end. I’m so done. It was SIX YEARS AGO that I noticed I slept so well in the hospital, not just because of morphine (take that, pain!) but ALSO, obviously, in large part due to the adjustable bed. Six years, people. I can’t believe I waited so damn long for this. And the perfectly-good-but-hurts-ME mattress we have now was, once again, the result of buying the cheaper model. Dumb, dumb, dumb.

Now that I’ve pulled the trigger, waiting the week for delivery has been torture. YOU GUYS I CAN’T WAIT TO SLEEP UPRIGHT AND WITH MY LEGS UP OH MY GOD I AM THE LAMEST PERSON EVER.

I’m an occasional (and very irritable) gardener. Don’t get me wrong, I love nature, love plants and above all, I love a good challenge.

But the sheer cussedness of doing work that UNDOES ITSELF… well, it offends my very soul.

“Er, Amy,” I hear you saying, “Didn’t you just write last week crowing about how you moved to 10 acres in the countryside? Doesn’t 10 acres = lots of plant life = garden?“

Yes indeed, I did, and yes it does of course, and believe me, my traitorous mind conjured up a charming little pastoral fantasy of pottering around among the vegetables, frolicking in the herbaceous border, Being One with the Earth etc etc. ad nauseum. (Emphasis on the nauseum.)

Dead-heading.

What is dead-heading, you ask? Well, it’s nature at its purest: red in tooth and pruning shears.

Allow me to illustrate it with a story:

When we bought our old house, we inherited a 5-foot-tall leggy shrub with gorgeous violet flowers. Like a neon lilac. I adored it. I never wanted to touch it, it was so pretty. And wouldn’t you know, four years later, it was 7 feet or more… and barely bloomed at all.

Booooo.

It turns out that if you want your plants to look their best — to grow thick and glossy and bloomful — you’ve gotta whack the shit out of them.

It’s paradoxical, but true: Once the bloom is off the rose, you’ve got to chop that rose off.

As Burpee the seed vendor writes about dead-heading:

You can get by without it, but your garden will give you extra “ooh”s and “ah”s if you prune, pinch and deadhead a bit. Yes, it sounds a little, assertive, right? But plants – like all of us – need boundaries.

Why yes, going all Eddie Scissorhands does seem “a little assertive.”

But they’re not wrong. When you prune, pinch and deadhead, then:

The plant can no longer waste precious energy and resources on a wilting flower.

The plant cries OMG! MUST REDOUBLE EFFORTS!! … and sprouts new growth, and blooms again.

And because plants — like all of us — crave boundaries…

Sometimes you’ve got to lop off entire branches if you want another flower.

The craziest thing are the plants you’ve got to cut back almost to the ground. Ornamental grasses, for example. They’re so big and fluffy… and come spring, you’ve got to butcher the whole lot. Shear them off, down to a nub.

To get more and better roses, you’ve got to cut off the almost-reasonably-good rose you’ve already got.

You’ve got to eliminate things that are merely “pretty okay” if you want to make room for things that are truly great.

I don’t know that anybody enjoys facing the metaphorical wilting rose and saying, “You know what, a rose in hand is NOT worth two in the bush,” and murdering it right then and there.

It’s hard to look hard at your life and admit: Well, this looks pretty good from the outside, but it’s killing me just a little every day.

Worse yet, I worked really hard to get here and now I wish I wasn’t.

It’s hard to un-settle.

To admit your fantasies, hard work, and planning were all wrong for you.

But when you do stop settling…

When you do work up the nerve to pinch, prune, and dead-head those spent blooms out of your life…

You’ll find that your energy is freed up for an explosion of new growth.

It’s amazing what you can achieve when you stop coping and start chopping.

So, yeah, I pretty much hate gardening because it’s work I’ve got to start all over again every damn week. But when I dead-head things in my life, they stay dead. So that’s awesome.

You’ve probably heard the saying, the perfect is the enemy of the good. And this is true on the topic of finishing vs never-finishing. If you wait for perfection in your work product, you will be waiting forever.

But when it comes to your life itself? Well, just as a fading bloom devours energy that could be better spent on a fresh new flower…

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PS: This is the story of how I decided on a whim to cut about a foot off my hair. By myself. With scissors.

On Christmas Eve, I was lounging in the bathtub reading a Dorothy Sayers novel (as you do) and lamenting that I had waited so late to wash my hair. My fine, long hair holds water like a sponge… and thanks to my illness, sleeping with wet hair is a real no-no. But blowdriers also trigger my symptoms. And salon appointments are like torture. Hence my procrastination and now-waist-length mop.

Wet and cold, I finally hit my limit.

Reflecting on my own damn mantra, I decided: SCREW IT! WHY NOT THE BEST??

Because this situation was definitely far, far from the best and I just kept coping with it. Why? Why does anyone keep putting up with anything? Momentum, lack thereof.

And so I washed my hair, got out of the tub, combed it out and cut it myself. With scissors. Like a 5’6″ toddler. I’ll probably go to a salon sometime soon and have them fancy it up with some layers or shit… but it looks fine for now.

I texted a photo to my friend Vanessa and she replied: “You look existentially lighter.” And she’s right!

Dead-heading, my friends!

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(adorable! but not my actual house)

It’s that time of year again! As in, the time of year is nearly gone.

Tradition dictates that it’s time for folks like me to start sending out year-end reviews, top lists, resolutions, goals, blah blah blahhhhhhh blah. Don’t get me wrong, I like reading other people’s, but me?

I can’t be bothered this year.

I just spent 6 months totally upending my life and IDGAF about tradition right now.

But I do want to share with you a question that’s been shaping my plans for the new year.

“Why not the best?”

Gross, right?

That was my first reaction. I recoiled from mental images of caviar and Cristal and gold-plated Apple Watches. Yachts may have made a token appearance. #richkidsofinstagram

But then I let the question settle in and put its feet up and I realized: Wait a minute. Those luxury items aren’t really “the best.” They’re just the most extreme. And are often used as a proxy for the best when people have no idea what they really want out of life.

The best isn’t about riches or luxury, jockeying or appearances.

Then what is it?

The best is the opposite of settling and making do.

The best is the right fit for you: Things that make you stronger. Healthier. More expansive. The things that build you up, or help you build yourself up. Things that challenge you in all the right ways.

Your best environment. Your best people. Your best choices. Your best work.

That’s the best.

Are you in the best right now?

I SURE AS HELL WASN’T!

IF IT SOUNDS LIKE I’M SCREAMING IT’S BECAUSE I AM!!

As I mentioned, I just spent 6 months totally upending my life. This summer, my husband and I had a revelation. In the car, of all places, driving home from the Poconos.

We decided to (metaphorically) screech to a halt and pull a full 180:

Downsize our office.
Sell our house.
Leave the city.

Not for the burbs — but the honest-to-god country. Ten acres, nestled in farmland. (And from an incredible 1740s rowhouse to a 1970s almost-a-ranch Cape Cod. I said screeching 180°…)

We told each of our Philly friends in person, to soften the blow.

Here’s the kicker:

Not one of them was surprised.

What! <—— my reaction to their non-reaction

I’d spent literally years telling everyone how awesome Philly was, and how much we adored our beautiful historic home. But my friends were too smart for me. They’d already seen what I had worked so hard to hide from myself:

I was fooling myself.

The thing is: I do love Philly. And I still love that house.

But the downsides I had told myself were fine — just part of the charm, ha ha — were not, in fact, fine or charming. Not for me. They were once, but not any more.

My friends saw the signs as clearly as the photos on my Instagram. To me, everything seemed good enough until one day it really, really didn’t.

That’s the ironic thing about settling:

We always settle at the edge.

We stop just a little bit short. Just a few steps further, and we could have what we really wanted.

We think: There are good things, here! Maybe even things you love. More importantly, there are things you could love. And so you set yourself to learning to love them.

You don’t settle where things are terrible. You settle where it’s pretty okay, right?

“This isn’t really where I want to be, but it’s close enough that I can pretend.”

Isn’t that just downside a hoot. Ha ha.

It’s even easier to tell this lie when you work really hard to get somewhere — only to arrive, and wish you hadn’t.

That’s where I found myself in late spring this year. Less and less enthused with what I had worked so hard to achieve, but still waking up every morning and putting on a smile.

“Everything good in life has downsides.”

And then I got sick.

After our conference, the stress of the year caught up with me. And I do mean caught. I caught everything: Sinus infection, ear infection, laryngitis, intestinal infection, horrible wracking phlegmy bronchitis, and pinkeye. All at once! I was sick for 6 weeks. Then I got better. Then it came back. Even the pinkeye.

I didn’t have the energy to put on a smile any more. One particularly shitty day I just sat on the sofa and cried and cried.

The very next week, we went to see a beautiful antique stone house. Aka trying to repeat only half the mistakes we made in Philly… ha! progress! But after a night of deliberation, we wised up and saw what we were doing.

So a few weeks later, we put an offer in on this (not antique, not stone) house.

The intellectual part of me that settles was afraid I’d be bored or lonely out here… but my (poor, sick) gut knew it was just what I needed.

And it was right.

Moving here has changed my life. My health is so much better. I can think more clearly. The quiet, the space, the light, the scenery – I feel the peace settling in around me. I’m happier, and everybody has noticed and commented.

That’s the best.

I feel like a weight has lifted. Probably because I’m no longer wasting my precious energy on denial and coping!

That’s the best, too.

It’s funny — I passionately adored our extremely special historic home. I was always thinking about it, planning for it, protecting it. It was a dramatic love affair. This new place? It’s lovely and I like it a lot, but it’s just a house. Our relationship is much simpler:

This house just makes me feel good.

It doesn’t ask anything of me. It’s just a house. I can just be. I know that sounds weird but it’s real, and it’s glorious.

Yep — the best, again.

And, of course, countryside life isn’t perfect. It’s true: Everything good in life does have downsides. It works so well as a lie because of its truth. (Humans!)

But when something is really good for you, you don’t have to talk yourself into it.

The costs are simple: effort or time or money — not your heart or soul.

And the good stuff? It’s really good.

For me, the best means brighter, quieter, simpler, easier.

And in the end, the greatest cost was letting go.

So hell yeah, I want the best.

From here on out, before making a choice, I will always ask:

“Why not the best?”

Isn’t it worth the work?

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How about you?

PS: FUN FACT: This question was apparently Jimmy Carter’s presidential campaign slogan. Say what you will about him, he won. How about that!

PPS: I don’t know about you, but I have realized that so many of my life’s biggest mistakes have come from settling. Growing up in a harsh situation taught me that I should never expect too much, and to take what I could get and be glad for it. That habit is dug in deep. It’s tough to break. It seems, sometimes, like life will offer nothing better. But believe me, it will, even if you have to chase it down and tackle it yourself. (And you probably will have to. But that puts the power in your hands, and that’s a good thing.)

So if you read this and think, “Easy enough for you to say” — realize that it wasn’t easy for me at all.

But if I can do it, why not you?

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My Twitter friend Greg “knew” that no one would want his advice.

And he wanted to be able to turn that into a book. It’s just that he “knew” nobody would buy it.

He took the leap anyway.

Today I met Greg for a coffee down here in Norfolk, and he told me, “Somebody just pre-ordered my new book!”:

That sale — his first sale! — was easy.

Even though Greg “knew” it wouldn’t happen easily, if ever, because of How The World Works.

Well… this morning, he woke up in one world. Tonight he’s falling asleep in another.

The world itself didn’t change, of course.

The first signup. The first sale. It’s magical. It’s the moment that the work you did on faith becomes real and you finally know — not think, know — that it’s all possible.

You can’t understand how magical this is until it happens to you.

Nearly everyone worries about their “expertise.”

I came to Norfolk to talk to a room full of smart, successful, capable consultants. Naturally, I came to spread the product gospel. Consultants can really kick ass with books, workshops, etc. because products A) rock at lead gen and B) are a natural extension of consulting, which is to inform, lead and serve the client.

And yet all the questions after my talk boiled down to:

“But… what could I teach? Who would buy that from me?”

Give these guys and gals a confused client and they’d OWN it. But say: “Tell it to your word processor” and suddenly they are emptied of confidence and full of doubt.

They “know” they have to be A World Renowned Expert™ to do write a book, record a video course, teach a workshop, build an app. You know, that very same job they already do day in, day out when they give their clients hands-on help.

There is no magic fairy that taps you on the shoulder & says “YOU’RE AN EXPERT™ NOW!”

You don’t need to be An Expert™ to reach back and help the people behind you. And there will always be people behind you.

And you don’t need to be An Expert™ to share what you’ve learned with your peers, either.

And guess what? Even people who are “ahead” of you can’t know everything. That’s a simple fact of physics. Nobody is An Expert™ on everything. You will know and do some things better than them.

And if you can guide, inform, support, and lead an INDIVIDUAL…

…you can turn that power into a book, a workshop, or a screencast series. Or an app! Or a service!